


Loves Me, Loves Me Not

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Cardverse, Character Death, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One-Shot Collection, Sweethearts Week 2015, accidental proposal, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fics written for USUK Sweethearts Week 2015 hosted by <a href="http://usukcommunity.tumblr.com">usukcommunity</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret Admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody has been sending America little love notes each day of the World meeting. Canada is totally not enjoying seeing his brother making an idiot of himself as he tries to figure out who’s sending them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Valentine's Day; work must be themed around Valentine's Day in some way, shape or form."

The doors to the conference room nearly came off their hinges as they slammed into the wall, and Canada looked over lazily as the ball of hyperactive energy that was his brother barreled into the room, expression frantic and suit rumpled. 

“Mattie!” America cried, flopping down into his chair next to his brother’s, and Canada sighed. “Dude, the hero totally needs your help!”

“What is it now, Al?” Canada shifted in his chair, knocking Kumajiro’s hand away from his notes. “I told you I’m not risking incarceration to get you a burger because they banned you.” 

America blinked, looking confused for a minute, before slumping over on the long conference table. “Nah, I ate, like, an entire bag on the way here. No, I need your help with this!” Sitting up, America produced several pieces of actual yellowed parchment from the inside of his jacket, folded in half with “My Dearest America” in swirling cursive on the front of each. 

Canada took them, looking one over carefully, before glancing back up at his brother, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Are these what I think they are?” A smile played on the corners of his lips, and he couldn’t help a chuckle at the look of helplessness on America’s face. 

“They’re  _love notes,_ Mattie!” he stage whispered, nearly sneering at the paper. “I’ve been finding them on the floor by my door in the hallway! It’s been going on since the meetings started. No one’s ever around, and I don’t recognize the handwriting! At first I thought it was just someone wanting to mess with me, but they keep showing up!” 

Canada continued hiding his sniggers as he opened the one in his hand, looking down to read it. 

 _Roses are the deepest of red,_  
_Your eyes an ocean of blue._  
_But nothing is as pure or everlasting  
__As my undying love for you._  

It was signed “Yours Always”, and Canada set it down to pick up another. 

 _Shall I compare thee to the summer’s days?_  
_My breath is taken at your lovely smile;_  
_The warmth it brings surrounding me always.  
_ _I wish to see it more than for a while._

He set that one down and looked at another, seeing much of the same. All were signed the same, and all spoke of different features the admirer adored about his brother, from his physical features to his personality, to even his ideals and ideas. Canada couldn’t help the soft smile on his lips. 

“Looks like you have an admirer, Al.” America pouted at him, and he rolled his eyes as his brother stuffed the notes — gently, he noted — back into his jacket. Other nations were beginning to show up, France sending him a wink and England making a face and hitting him as they walked in together. 

“I need your help to figure out who they are, Mattie!” America gazed at him imploringly from behind his glasses. 

Canada looked back at him evenly. 

America gasped in outrage, and Canada couldn’t stop his smile. “You  _know!_ ” he accused, pointing a finger in his face. “You know who it is! Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Canada laughed as America shook him back and forth, his grip tight and unforgiving as he forgot his strength. 

Canada easily removed his brother’s hands, sniggering. “Not a chance, Al,” he grinned. “You gotta do this on your own. What fun is it if we give you the answer?”

America pulled back, crossing his arms as he pouted again. “You’re no fun,” he muttered, but he sat back, look over the arriving nations, eyes narrowed as he supposedly thought about who could have possibly sent him the notes. Canada saw his cheeks flush lightly when he looked across at his former caretaker, and the Canadian smiled.

“Tell you what,” he said, catching his brother’s attention again. He pulled Kuma into his lap as Germany stood at the head of the table, greeting them all and informing them of the list of presenters for the day. “I’ll buy you lunch for a month if you solve this by Saturday, eh?” 

America grinned back at him as he was called to start the presentations, clapping him on the shoulder as he headed to the front. “I like extra bacon, loser.”

 

* * *

 

Oh, this was  _so_ one of the smartest ideas he’d ever had. Canada remained in his seat, slowly making his way through his lunch as he watched his brother across the room. America was currently trying to pretend he wasn’t obviously looking at other nations’ notes, comparing handwriting to the ones in his jacket. Luckily, most of the countries were just giving him strange looks but ignoring him for the most part. Canada chuckled to himself.

A body seated itself next to him a moment later, and Canada smiled over at the hulking form of Russia, who was grinning pleasantly. 

“ _Matvey!”_ Russia greeted. “Why is  _Fredka_ looking through our things?”

“Because he sucks at stealth, apparently.” Canada shook his head fondly. “Someone’s been sending him love notes acting as a secret admirer. I bet him lunch for a month he couldn’t figure it out by Valentine’s this weekend.”

“Ah.” Russia joined him in watching America looking through a pile of papers where Hungary was sitting, his eyes darting over to her and back to keep tabs. Canada couldn’t blame him — that frying pan  _hurt._ “ _Matvey_ knows who it is,  _da?_ ” 

“Yeah.” His eyes travelled over to the corner of the room where his own lover was in a heated argument with the British nation.

Russia nodded in understanding. “I had a feeling. Mr. England has visited the hotel much more often this time than he normally does when he hosts. I had thought they already confessed.” 

“That’ll be the day, eh.” Canada sighed. The two had been dancing around each other since the second World War, and it was starting to get frustrating to outside parties that saw them together.  _“Special relationship”,_ he scoffed internally,  _if only._

“Who do you think will confess first?”

Canada pursed his lips, considering. “In actual words to the other’s face? I’d put money on Arthur, since he’s the one that’s taken the initiative with the notes and all.”

Russia hummed in thought. “Then I shall put money on  _Fredka,_ ” he decided. “He’s prone to stating his feelings, whereas Mr. England is not.”

Canada smiled. “You’re on. And feel free to add people to the bet,” he added. “I’m sure the only people who don’t think they have feelings for each other are Al and Arthur themselves.”

“Very well.” Russia stood then, waving at him. “I’ll shall be here to collect my winnings at the end of the week. We’ll settle a price then,  _da?_ ”

Canada nodded and waved him away, returning to his lunch with a grin.

By the end of the day, their betting pool was staggering. As he’d predicted, most of the nations besides America and England thought the two were already in a relationship, and immediately joined in the bet when they learned of the love notes and America’s intentions to find out who it was. Hungary and Japan had some of the largest amounts in the bet, and they’d agreed to rig the conference hall and building with cameras, as well as America’s room at the hotel and some of the rooms at England’s house with cameras in hopes of catching a confession.

It was just a matter of time, at this point.

 

* * *

 

Canada wasn’t sure exactly how he was “related” to his brother, because honestly his brother was an idiot. It had been three days —  _three days_ — since all bets had been made and America had taken on the case of the “Mystery Admirer” (because apparently “secret admirer” was “too mainstream”), and… nothing.

Oh, his brother and England had certainly been together in those three days. They ate lunch together, as well as catching dinner late in the evening, and Canada had left to his former caretaker entering their shared room two of those three nights. Watching the feed from Hungary and Japan’s cameras later only showed that they sat and watched TV, sometimes arguing over actors and, surprisingly, plotlines (none of them even knew America  _cared_ for that kind of thing beyond explosions and action). Just every day, friendly hanging out.

All of the nations were desperate to see them together by now, and were even beginning to drop hints. At this point, no one really cared  _who_ confessed first as long as a confession took place period. Each chance they got, all countries left the American and English nation alone, hoping to prompt the spillage of deep feelings; excuses of having to go to the bathroom, forgetting notes, needing to find another country. Even  _Germany_ had made up a story of having to bail his brother out of something when it looked like he’d be stuck with them during a split-session.

It was killing them all. And it was now  _Friday._

“ _Mon dieu!_ It is like they are blind! And deaf! _”_

Canada huffed in agreement at his lover’s exclamation as he and France watched America from across the conference room. Currently, his brother was in the middle of an argument with his crush, and it only seemed to be getting worse. “What did he say this time?”

France rolled his eyes, tossing his hair as he pouted across the room. “He insulted our  _rosbif’s_ scones yet again. I see where he’s coming from, of course, but really. This is getting tiresome.”

Canada nodded in agreement, wincing as the voices shouting grew louder.

“You uncultured git!” England yelled. “As if you would know proper,  _healthy_ food if it shoved itself right up your arse!”

“At least  _my_ food doesn’t double as poison!” America scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. His face was red and he was nearly in full pout mode. Canada could see the hurt in his eyes, the regret that a simple conversation was yet again being blown out of proportion. “When was the last time someone other than  _you_ even  _recognized_ your food, huh?”

They  _really_ needed to resolve that sexual tension.

“That’s rich coming from  _you!”_ England huffed, puffing his chest out. His lip trembled, though. “Everything you eat looks like it’s been digested at least once already!  _And_ it’s packed with all kinds of chemicals that could mutate a lesser being.” He laughed mirthlessly. “It's a wonder anyone ever appreciates dinner on you.”

America gasped in outrage, looking dejected despite the fact that they’d argued about this very thing more than once before. Canada groaned lowly, laying his head on his lover’s shoulder.

“This is painful,” he muttered somberly. “They just need to kiss and make up already. Like, literally kiss.”

“I agree,  _chou,_ ” France sighed. The other nations in the room had backed into walls, trying to stay out of the way of the arguing hopefully-soon-to-be-lovers-because-really-this-was-just-bullshit, but watching them all the same.

America was now right up in England’s face, glaring down at him. “When was the last time  _you_ even took someone out to dinner, old man?” He sneered. “Bet you haven’t had a date since your pirate days. And even then you’d’ve had to  _force_ it, right? Are you even capable of caring?”

England glared right back, arms firmly crossed over his chest almost protectively. His brows furrowed menacingly, and Canada was struck with a bit of unease at just how coolly he could take things. The British Empire was nothing to scoff at.

“Don’t you dare say I am incapable of compassion,” England said tightly. “I’ve loved deeper than you could even imagine in your shallow perceptions. I still do,” he added quietly, looking away from the taller nation.

Canada felt France grip his arm as they listened. “Is this it?” he whispered, tone excited. “Is this torture about to end?”

Canada glanced around the room, and nearly everyone was intently watching the two nations closely. Both Hungary and Japan had cameras out, ready for anything. Russia caught his eye and smiled. He turned back to France. “Let’s hope.”

America was quiet, gazing at England with sad blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Artie,” he said quietly, and there was nearly a collective intake of air from the other side of the room. “I didn’t – I…” He took a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean that. That was wrong of me to say. I just…”

“It’s fine, Alfred,” England began, but America cut him off.

“No, it’s not,” he asserted, turning a frown on the British nation. “You’re one of the most caring people I know, and I had no right to say that. You give so much of yourself for everyone else, and all we do is make fun of you like that. What kind of hero am I when I’m no better than the rest?” He sighed, sticking a hand in his pocket and then pulling it right back out and looking awed at the tiny little notes he’d grabbed.

England looked at them and stilled, glancing up at the superpower with wide eyes. “W-What are those?”

America looked back at him, but didn’t seem to notice his sudden panic. He smiled wanly. “Oh. Just some notes I’ve been getting. For Valentine’s, ya know?” He chuckled, smiling at the little pieces of paper. “Not sure if it was just a joke or if the sender was serious, though. Haven’t been able to figure it out.”

“Ah.” England shifted, looking anywhere but at America, and Canada just wanted to smash their faces together. “Do you… Would you rather it be real or a joke?” he asked.

America looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m not sure, really. I mean, I’m kinda already in love with someone,” he admitted, flushing to his ears. “I have been for… a while. Forever, feels like. At least if it was a joke I wouldn’t be letting anyone down.”

“Oh?” England’s shoulders slumped, his expression falling slightly. “W-Well, have you told them yet?”

His brother shifted uncomfortably; Canada felt ready to smack his head into the nearest wall. “Nah.” America forced a light chuckle. “Pretty sure they don’t like me back, anyway, so…”

“If you haven’t asked, how do you know?” England pressed. “Maybe they return your feelings.”

“Have  _you_ told who  _you’re_ in love with?” America shot back.

“Well, no…”

“Why not?” England remained silent, and America nodded as if that confirmed everything. “Not that easy, Artie.”

“It could be,” England said, looking up at America. Canada held his breath. “It could be as easy as three words.  _Or._ ” Reaching into his own pocket, the British nation pulled out what looked like a folded piece of paper, looking at it before holding it out to America.

America stared at it for a moment, a look of confusion on his face as he took it. “What is it?” He looked down, and the expression of utter bewilderment that came over him was absolutely priceless. Canada really wanted to see it, to see what it said, but part of him thought he knew.

“Artie?”

“Or it could be as easy as sending a note,” England said softly. “ _My dearest America, my Alfred, my hero. May you find love and happiness to last forever. You’re eternally in my heart, and I wish more than anything I’m in yours, too. Yours always._ ”

“ _Awww,_ ” France cooed bedside him, and Canada smiled. “That was  _magnifique!_ He certainly has a way with words.”

America was stunned. The note was held loosely in his hand, threatening to flutter to the ground. “Artie… I…”

“I love you, Alfred,” England interrupted, cheeks red and gaze on the American. “I have for a long,  _long_ time. I only wish I’d had the courage to tell you sooner. I understand if you don’t—”

A collective squeal sounded from the corner of the room as America stepped forward, cutting the British nation off with a kiss. Applause, shouts of victory, and groans of defeat made half-hearted by the breaking of tension filled the room as England’s arms slid around the American’s neck, holding him close.  _Finally._ Catching Russia’s gaze, Canada smiled sweetly, leaning into his lover.

He  _so_ called it.


	2. Boldly Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Arthur Kirkland, Chief Medical Officer, isn’t what most people consider “warm and fuzzy” when it comes to showing affection, or emotions in general. Alfred Jones, Captain of the U.S.S. _Britannia_ , just really doesn’t care. _Star Trek_ AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Science Fiction Double Feature; work must include elements of sci-fi, such as robots, space operas, time travel, etc."

Dr. Arthur Kirkland wasn't what most people considered "warm and fuzzy." Alfred Jones knew this well. He'd spent the majority of their three years together at the Academy subject to the Briton's grumbling manner, his irritated scowls at his classmates and his reserved nature everywhere else. Not to say that the good doctor didn't ever speak his mind — oh, boy, did he  _ever_ — but it was the unanimous opinion that any attempt to romance the man should be abandoned in light of keeping one's sanity and avoiding imminent heartbreak.

Alfred was not of the unanimous opinion (which, in that case, it wasn't really "unanimous" anymore, but whatever; semantics) and he was determined to be the first to get gruff and sarcastic Arthur Kirkland to loosen up and maybe even enjoy himself a little. With the Terran holiday of Saint Valentine coming up in a couple days, he thought it was the perfect time to act.

It didn't hurt that he'd pretty much fallen in love with the guy when they'd first run into each other. He'd  _accidentally_ (it had all been Gil's idea, anyway!) mixed a couple of the unknown chemical compounds from their lab class in their dorm, and, long story short, they were still rebuilding that half of campus four years later (for as advanced as Starfleet was, one would think they could afford funding for renovations). Alfred, as well as half the cadets on the Command track, were all reassigned rooms, and due to overfilling he was assigned to room with the Medical students. He'd walked up to the quaint little condos that were given to long-term on-campus doctors and staff, whistled lowly at the thought of maybe having an actual  _bathroom_ , and sauntered in, coming face to face with the greenest pair of eyes he'd ever seen.

Of course, he'd chosen wisely not to say anything about them, but not so wisely instead blurted out the next thing to come to mind: " _Dude, what are those things on your face?_ "

Not his smoothest moment, and Matt had nearly had a cow when he heard about it, spending their entire brothers' night out at the off-campus bar laughing at him. Alfred had pouted and downed about five beers in quick succession, cursing his superpower-level tolerance to alcohol before slumping back to his room in the wee hours of the morning. Lucky for him (or maybe not), the doctor worked the night shift (and the morning, afternoon, and sometimes evening shifts, occasionally on the same day) and he'd been out before (immediately dubbed) Artie could chew him out again.

It had been five years since then; they were best friends, nigh inseparable, and Alfred was now the youngest Captain Starfleet had ever had, two years into his first five-year mission. His ship, the U.S.S.  _Britannia_ , was his pride and joy, and his crew was  _awesome._ Currently, they were orbiting Lanta II, a mix-breed colony of Terran-Andorians known as the Jhoari, in the Andorian star system, negotiating the trading of minerals found beneath the outer layer of the planet in deep mines. High Chancellor Shrevan th'Rothi was taking his sweet time in compromising any of the terms, so the Admiralty had him and his crew waiting for further instructions.

And now Valentine's Day was approaching, and strangely enough, the Jhoari had a corresponding celebratory day coming up as well, to show support for their Terran allies. The customs were different, of course, ceremonies to bind mates under the eyes of their gods being a big deal, but the idea was the same: a day to celebrate love.

Even the crew was getting into the spirit. It was pretty cool to see that no matter how deep in the black they ended up, Alfred could walk around the decks of the  _Britannia_ and see shy smiles being shared between ensigns, hear hushed conversations about who liked who in the rec rooms when he was off shift. His First Officer, Commander Lukas Bondevik, was constantly in the presence of their Chief Engineer Mathias Køhler (though no one could tell if that was his doing or Mathias'); his helmsman Lieutenant Ludwig Beilschmidt always went red whenever Ensign Feliciano Vargas came around; and Alfred liked to laugh at Gilbert, his Communications Officer, when he sighed and stared longingly at both Nurse Héderváry and Doctor Edelstein when they came up from Sickbay.

Even  _Matt_ had taken the interest of one of the Jhoari priests, one that insisted on going by the Terran name Francis, as he'd become fascinated by their French culture when he'd first spoken to the Xenobiologist.

And then there was Alfred. Still alone with his pathetically unrequited love for the  _one_ person who could consistently resist his sweet American charms and took none of his bullshit, that pushed him to be better and stronger, that bitched at him when he did something idiotic and patched him up anyway with the gentlest of touches that sent fire over his skin.

But that was going to change, if he had anything to say about it! He was Captain Alfred F. Jones, hero of Earth, and he was gonna ask out his best friend — CMO — the one person he counted on most — if it killed him.

Slumping sideways in his chair, Alfred pursed his lips in thought as he stared at the viewscreen, observing Lanta II. The surface looked a mix of dark brown and blue, with splashes of green where large forests covered the planet. It was a gorgeous sight, really, and Alfred could sort of understand why the High Chancellor wouldn't be right on board with tearing it up for minerals. It wasn't like they couldn't get the minerals somewhere else — they were pretty common, and Starfleet used them mainly for recreational programs because of their soothing, meditative properties — but orders were orders, and Alfred didn't yet have a reason to not follow them.

"You look like you're thinking real hard there, Al," Matt's voice interrupted him, and Alfred looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Something up?"

Alfred shrugged, turning his chair to face the Xenobiologist. "Nah, just… pondering."

"Pondering?"

"Yup."

"Ah. On?"

Alfred took a deep breath, looking back out at Lanta II. "Valentine's Day is coming up," he said instead, feeling his light flush spoke on what he was  _really_ thinking about (Matt wasn't stupid; he  _knew_ ). "I hear the celebrations the Jhoari hold are pretty cool."

Matt nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I guess," he said. "Francis was telling me about them earlier. Apparently, it's an honor to be mate-bonded on today in particular, because the Jhoari believe that the Divine Powers bless the couple more than on any other day, since they pay more tribute to them."

"Mate-bonded, huh? Like, marriage?" Alfred asked.

Matt shrugged. "Sort of, but I think it's more… 'profound', or something. Like, 'soul mates' profound. Eternally bonded through the spirit." He smiled. "You'd probably have to ask a cultural specialist to be sure. I just study their biology."

"I bet you do," Alfred muttered under his breath, smiling innocently when his brother shot him an unimpressed glare.  _Too soon._ He chuckled anyway. "Sounds like fun."

"Some of the crew's been wondering about it," Matthew said. "Since we're stuck up here anyway, they were wondering if maybe we could go down in a couple days and partake in the celebrations. The High Chancellor invited us, didn't he?"

Alfred nodded in thought. "Yeah. Said we'd all be welcome if we wanted, since we celebrate the day anyway. I'll talk to the Admiralty later, see if it'd be okay. Maybe if we mingle and get to know them, we can get the Chancellor to hurry up and make up his mind on the terms of the negotiations."

Matthew nodded, turning on his heel. "Well, I'll leave you to that, then. Oh, and Kirkland wants to see you before you hit the sack." Alfred glared at his brother's knowing smirk as he headed back to the labs. "Don't keep him waiting."

Alfred pouted at the door to the bridge as it slid closed behind his asshole of a brother, and he sighed deeply. He really should just man-up and ask, but he couldn't fathom what his life would be like if suddenly there was an awkwardness between him and his best friend. Surly as he could be, Arthur was kind as well, caring for his patients with all the nurturing air of a father, able to calm and reassure them that everything was going to be alright and he'd take care of it. Alfred had fallen for his passion for his work, his tenderness in his treatment, his drive to keep everyone safe and alive. Their friendship was everything to him.

He didn't want to lose that because he wanted more.

At the end of Alpha shift, Alfred took the lift down to Deck Five, heading to Sickbay as requested (because if he didn't, he'd be hunted down later and Artie knew how to wield hypos like friggin' phasers) and smiling at Nurse Héderváry as he entered.

"Hey, Liz!" he greeted. "Where's Artie? Said he needed me."

She grinned back, pointing to across the room to the biobeds currently in use, where Alfred could see his CMO fretting over three ensigns that he was sure were from Engineering. "Something went wrong in one of the power rooms or something," she informed him brightly. "He's been reaming 'em out for about fifteen minutes now."

"That's my Artie," he said, and flushed again at the glimmer in her eyes. As if by super-hearing, the doctor turned and shot him a look, eyebrow raised. Alfred smiled at him, all teeth, walking over to the ensigns with a wave to Héderváry. "What happened?" he asked.

"One of the Auxiliary Molecular Resonance Inverters fried and we were sent in to replace it," one of them spoke up. "Someone forgot to completely sever the circuit, though, and the backlash when we removed it, well…" He shrugged.

Alfred looked down at their arms at the indication and winced. From elbow to wrist, each of them had fresh burns, spindly lightning-shaped patterns decorating their forearms. Artie had the epidermal regenerator beside him, using what looked like a type of scalpel to remove the first few layers of skin before allowing the regenerator to grow new skin. He could feel phantom pains in his own arms.

"Other than this, you all are alright?" he asked, concern in his voice.

Arthur looked up at him then, a tiredness to his eyes, and Alfred briefly wondered when the last time he slept more than two hours at a time was. "They'll be fine, Alfred," he said, voice just as tired as his green eyes. "A few days' bed rest and they can return to work. I'll be prescribing some shots in case of any lasting pain or side effects," he told the three.

All of them nodded, and Alfred grinned as he laid a hand on the closest ensign's shoulder. "Good, then. I'll be in your office, Artie."

"It's still  _Arthur,_ you git," Artie grumbled, glaring at Alfred from under his lashes.

He winked and turned. "Take care of yourselves, Ensigns," he called, heading across Sickbay to the CMO's office, seating himself in one of the chairs by the desk. The space was sparsely decorated, one shelf full of books on the wall to his right, and papers scattered over the desk.

As soon as he was finished with the ensigns, Artie joined him in the office, slumping into his chair across from Alfred. He let out a weary sigh, rubbing a hind over his face and mussing his wild blond hair up even further. Alfred smiled at him, and he returned it with a slight upturn of his lips.

"Long day?" Alfred asked, leaning back in his chair.

Arthur groaned. "Like you wouldn't believe," he scoffed. He leaned down, pulling something out of one of the drawers in his desk. It was a teacup and thermos of warm tea. "Honestly, I'm not sure they teach any safety measures to the buffoons in Engineering. Those were the fifth batch I've seen of the sods today."

Alfred laughed, watching the doctor pour the tea into his cup, stirring in a bit of sugar before taking a sip. "That sucks. But I bet you told 'em all what for, yeah?"

"Indeed." Arthur smirked at him. "And now I'm here to tell you the same thing."

Alfred groaned, letting his head drop back against the chair as he pouted at his best friend. "Aw, do I hafta?" he whined. He didn't like the hypos or the poking and prodding when they did physicals. He was  _Captain_  — it was in the job description to go boldly and get hurt for the sake of his crew!

Artie was indifferent to his suffering. "Yes. Regulations state that all personnel must be thoroughly examined on a regular basis to assure top health, physically, mentally, and emotionally, for maximum performance of duty. You know this, Alfred."

He did, sadly, and he sagged in his chair in defeat. "I hate physicals," he muttered, and Arthur gave him a small smile. "When?"

"In the next week or so, as soon as I finish with the science department," Arthur answered, setting his cup down.

Alfred nodded, remembering his plans to ask if they could celebrate with the Jhoari as he glanced around the room, and he turned back to Arthur. "Oh, hey, so some of the crew wants to head down to the planet to celebrate Valentine's with the Jhoari. I need to talk to Wang about it, but I'm sure he'll agree. Not like we're doing anything up here," he muttered.

The doctor leaned back in his seat, pulling a PADD to himself. "Well then, make sure everyone who goes comes to see me first. There are some diseases that have cropped up that I need to vaccinate for."

Alfred looked at him curiously. "Why don't you come?" he asked. "You're always stuffed back here in Sickbay, under piles of forms and shit."

Arthur glanced up at him with the look that said his Captain was an idiot. "Because it's my job," he said slowly. "Besides, Valentine's is for those who have significant others to spend it with. It seems inane to partake in celebrations meant for lovers without one of my own."

Alfred paused at that, wondering if it wouldn't be a good idea to broach the subject of his own feelings. Arthur appeared nonchalant, unaffected by his statement, but the Captain could see his doctor's loneliness in the tightening of his beautiful green eyes, the hunch of his shoulders as he typed away on his PADD. It hurt to see.

"C'mon, Artie," he pleaded quietly. "It's one day. You deserve a day off, loosen up, have some fun, eat something funky that you yell at me for making you eat 'cause one of us has some sort of reaction to it." He grinned at the "totally-done-with-your-bullshite-you-wanker" expression he loved so much. " _Please?"_

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, and for a second, Alfred feared he'd say no anyway. But his shoulders dropped, and a slight smile crossed his face, and Alfred felt his heart stutter in his chest.

"Alright, you git." Arthur sighed as if put-upon, and Alfred grinned widely. "I'll tag along this time. I suppose it will be easier to jab you with a hypospray when I'm right there with you, yes?"

"Yes! Thanks, Artie!" Alfred jumped up from his chair, wrapping his best friend in a tight hug and laughing as he was shouted and shoved from the office.

"Just go talk to Admiral Wang!" Arthur yelled at him, and Alfred sauntered out of Sickbay with a smile.

 

* * *

 

The air was fresh and light on Lanta II, and Alfred inhaled deeply as he walked alongside Arthur down the stone streets of the Zeri Industrial District. Decorations in all colors were strung along the buildings, grand bouquets, as tall as him, lining the walkways, all full of exotic flora that the botany lab was just having a field day over. Large bird-like animals flew through the sky over their heads, melodic sounds filtering down to their ears, and the Jhoari themselves were dressed in flowing gowns and robes, chatting amiably as they sold wares and guided groups of the crew around.

"It's really pretty here," Alfred commented, watching petals of the flowers float along the breeze. "Colorful almost doesn't describe it."

Arthur hummed in agreement, and Alfred was again distracted by how the forest color of his eyes was brought out by the tunic he'd been provided when they'd beamed down. th'Rothi and the rest of the High Council had welcomed them with smiles and open arms, native clothing given to them so that they may better integrate themselves into the festivities. Alfred's tunic was a light sky blue, lined in gold, with black pants. Arthur's, in contrast, was a pale green, embroidered with runes that the locals said invoked tranquility and joy, matched with dark brown pants. They still had on their Starfleet regulation boots, but they mixed in well.

Arthur looked graceful as he meandered down the streets with Alfred, relaxed and content for the first time in ages.

Alfred thought he was beautiful.

"Did the Chancellor ever give you his terms for the negotiations?" Arthur asked, looking at him from his peripherals.

Alfred shook himself from his staring and nodded, facing forward. Young Jhoari children played in the streets in front of them, laughing and tossing toys back and forth. "Yeah, finally. Since we'd decided to show our support for an important time of year for them, he signed the agreement to let Starfleet begin mining, with the promise that they'd keep it to specific designated areas so as to not inhibit the natural growth of the surrounding wildlife. Or something along those lines; I stopped listening after a while." Arthur smacked him in the arm and he laughed.

"Git. You're supposed to be privy to  _all_ information — not just what you think is interesting."

"I heard it, Artie," he chuckled. "I'm not  _always_ an idiot, you know."

"Mm, I beg to differ."

"Ouch, Artie." He slapped a hand against his heart, smiling at his best friend who rolled his eyes. They continued their walk, enjoying the smell of cultural specialties in the air, and Alfred went back to watching the floating petals and flowers.

Reaching out, he grabbed a small, delicate white one. It looked similar to a Terran Calla lily, but its fragrance was purer, cleaner. He turned to Arthur, who was gazing at it in mild interest, and he grinned as he slid it gently into the doctor's hair, above his ear. It caressed his cheek with long petals, his fair skin just a hint tanner than its snow white color. Arthur quirked on of his fuzzy brows, his lips twitching.

"Oh, really?" he asked, tone teasing.

"Shut up," Alfred chuckled. "You like flowers, anyway."

Arthur reached up, touching the flower softly. "I do," he agreed. "It's very pretty, Alfred. Thank you."

"Well, it's a tradition to give flowers to the one you love on Valentine's, so…" Alfred trailed off, eyes widening as the words slipped out without actual thought to them. He bit his lip as Arthur froze next to him, and he dropped his eyes to his boots. "Shit, Artie, I…"

Hands cupped his face and pulled it up, forcing him to look into soft green eyes. "Did you mean it, Alfred?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, brushing against Alfred's cheek. " _Do_ you mean it?"

Alfred could only nod as he gazed back, feeling his heart beating against his ribcage like a drum. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, I meant it. I've been in love with you since the first day I moved into your dorm, really. You were beautiful sitting there doing homework. And I've only fallen harder every day since. For your grumpiness, for your sarcasm, for your determination and your drive and your passion. I love you, Artie."

Arthur's breath caught, and Alfred clenched his fists, preparing for imminent rejection. "Alfred…"

"Artie—"

Soft lips cut him off with a rough kiss, and Alfred melted against Arthur, arms wrapping around his best friend as Arthur pulled him closer by his shoulders. It was electric, a fire burning through him as Arthur pressed against him, slipping his tongue into Alfred's mouth and tracing his teeth, mapping it out. Their breathing became ragged and Alfred was lightheaded by the time he pulled from Arthur's lips, swollen and red, bitten and licked. Arthur's hand caressed his face as he stared in disbelief down at his best friend.

"You were the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen when you walked in that day," Arthur murmured, tracing the contours of his lips, his nose. "I was mesmerized. Until you opened your mouth, of course," he chuckled, and Alfred flushed. "But I could never push you away like I could everyone else. You were sweet, kind, always standing up for others and leading them like a true hero, something I didn't know I admired and loved until you came along. You showed me there was more to life than just cynicism and darkness. You fought your way into my heart before I could even put up my defenses."

Arthur leaned up, pressing another kiss to his lips. "I love you too, Alfred."

Cheers sounded around them, and Alfred glanced around to see what was happening. Arthur frowned but didn't move, keeping his arms around Alfred. From down the street, which Alfred saw now was in the market square outside of the High Temple, they watched as the High Chancellor approached them, clapping with the crowd and smiling a bright white smile.

"Captain Jones!" he called, and Alfred took one of his arms from Arthur to shake the outstretched hand that th'Rothi offered him. "A thousand congratulations! May the Divine watch over you from this day on!"

"Thank you, Chancellor," he offered, confusion in his tone. "But, um, I'm afraid I'm not sure why congratulations are in order."

"Why, your intention of bonding to this lovely man, of course!" The Chancellor gestured to his CMO. "It is Jhoari tradition to offer a white  _Thelin Firre,_ " he pointed to the lily-flower in Arthur's hair, "to one's prospective bond-mate! And yours accepted!"

More cheers sounded, and Alfred looked wide-eyed over to Arthur, who looked back stunned. "Like, Terran engagement?" Alfred managed to ask, turning back to the Chancellor.

th'Rothi contemplated for a moment before nodding. "I believe that is the correct equivalent, yes! Oh, happy days ahead of us! Please, you must let us perform the bonding ceremony! It is the least we can do for such an exemplary Captain of Starfleet."

Alfred could hardly think though the rush of  _oh shit I just proposed to Artie and he_ said yes  _oh my god_ running through his head, but he managed to smile and nod. Not like he could refuse, after all. He looked back at Arthur as the Chancellor and the Council started making plans for their wedding —  _oh shit we're getting married_ — and saw that Arthur was smiling softly.

"Next time," his CMO said, looking at him with a sparkle in his eye, "I expect a ring."

Alfred laughed, pulling his best friend close and kissing him again.

Matt was gonna have a cow when he heard about this.


	3. In Sickness and In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Alfred gets sick, he gets clingy. Arthur doesn’t mind in the least. AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Always beside you; work must include some form of physical contact between the boys."

Loud snorts filled with the sounds of mucus floated to Arthur's ears as he entered the small flat, coming from the living area. He frowned to himself, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the coatrack, then stepping out of his shoes. He padded into his shared home, looking over at the sofa where a bundle of plush blanket sat huddled on one side. The television was on, volume low, and another snort came from the bundle, followed by a round of hacking coughs.

"Alfred, love?" he called, and a moan escaped the blanket as it shifted, revealing a flushed face shining with sweat and blue eyes that were slightly glazed with mild fever.

"Artie," he whined, his voice scratchy. Arthur moved over to him, placing a hand on his forehead. "I don't feel good," he continued. He turned his head to cough, reaching over to the coffee table to the box of tissues and taking one, blowing his nose. A small rubbish bin sat at Alfred's feet, a pile of Kleenex inside.

"I'll say not," Arthur murmured softly. Alfred was hot to the touch, but he leaned into Arthur's hand, nuzzling at his wrist. Arthur cupped his jaw tenderly, caressing his cheek with his thumb. "How long have you been feeling ill?"

Another sniff, and Alfred turned away to cough again. "Since this morning, I guess," he replied, shivering. He pulled the soft throw blanket tighter around his body, curling up into a tighter ball. "It was just sniffling, and then I started coughing and my throat started hurting, and now I sorta ache and I'm really tired." He smiled up at Arthur faintly, just the barest upturn of his lips. He looked fatigued, light bruise-like circles under the lenses of his glasses. His normal tanned skin looked paler, sallow almost. "Probably caught it from Gil at work. He's been out a couple days with the flu."

Arthur took his hand back, turning to walk to the kitchen. "Have you eaten anything, love?" he asked over his shoulder. "Had any fluids?" It was important to stay hydrated, and Arthur immediately filled a glass with orange juice, bringing it back to Alfred.

"Um, I had crackers," Alfred said, taking the glass with weak hands. "I wasn't really hungry. I've been drinking water and juice, though."

Humming to himself, Arthur walked back to the kitchen and pulled out pots from the cabinets, setting them on the stove and moving to get items out of the pantry. "Well, if you can managed another two hours or so, I'll make us some soup." He pulled ingredients out as he moved about the kitchen, setting them on the countertops in easy reaching distance.

The recipe for homemade chicken soup was one he'd made dozens of times, learned from his mother and memorized over the years whenever one of his brothers fell ill. He chopped up the carrots and celery and onions, adding them to the pot with garlic and thyme and bay leaves, memories of rainy days sitting in the bay window, a book in his lap and his mother bustling about, humming softly, surfacing in the aromas filling their flat. The familiar motions of skinning and de-boning the chicken after it had cooked, shredding it, calmed him, a sort of de-stressor from a long day cataloguing and entering information into computers.

"It smells really good, Artie," Alfred said a while later. Arthur smiled at the back of his head as he poured the chicken stock into the other pot, mixing it with the left over vegetables to come to a boil.

"It'll be ready soon, love." He added the egg noodles, letting them become soft before adding in the shredded chicken and leaving the soup to finish cooking.

He inhaled deeply as he moved to get bowls and utensils, and once it was ready, he finished seasoning it before ladling portions out for each of them. Walking carefully into the living room, Arthur nudged the part of leg sticking out of the bundle. Alfred shifted, groaning slightly as he unwrapped himself from the blankets, letting the material pool around his waist. He grinned up at Arthur as he took his bowl. Arthur nudged him again, getting him to scoot over so he could sit down . Alfred looked at him disapprovingly.

"You're gonna get sick too, Artie," he protested, but it was half-hearted and he immediately leaned into Arthur.

" _In sickness and in health,_ love," Arthur returned, smiling at Alfred. "I'll deal with it if or when it happens. Now eat. You need the nutrition."

Alfred chuckled and spooned a bite out, blowing on it to cool it before sipping at the broth, humming in happiness as he ate. "Awesome as always, Artie!" He took another bite.

Arthur smiled as he sipped at his own bowl. "Thank you, love."

They ate in silence, watching whatever show Alfred had let play on the television and enjoying the quiet. Alfred pressed close against Arthur's side, leaning on him as the soup was finished. The sun was low on the horizon when Arthur set their empty bowls aside turning to allow Alfred to curl up against him. He ran a hand through sweat-matted blond hair, and Alfred sighed at the cool metal of the silver band on his finger against his heated skin.

"Your soup is magic, Artie," Alfred said, looking up at him. "I feel better already!"

Arthur smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. "That's wonderful, love. But you still need rest, and possibly some medication."

Alfred whined, but snuggled closer, wrapping Arthur in his arms and throwing the blanket over both of them. " _Fine,_ " he sighed. Arthur felt him grin against his neck, kissing it lightly. "Love you, Artie."

Twining their hands together, Arthur squeezed tightly in response, their rings clinking. "I love you too, Alfred. Get some sleep, love."

 

* * *

 

The very next week, Arthur was curled up on the sofa, face flushed and throat sore, and Alfred was handing him a bowl of chicken soup with a smile.


	4. Rose Grams and School Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This year, Hetalia Academy is doing rose grams with the special addition of students who may be shy being able to pay extra to have people ask their crushes to the Valentine’s Dance. Alfred Jones, star quarterback, is one of those shy students. And he really wants to ask out Student Council President Arthur Kirkland. High School AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "School Daze; work must include school elements, such as students/teachers, high school, college/university, vocational school, preschool, etc."

Alfred stood in the cafeteria, leaning against one of the brick columns that dotted the room and watching the table set up in the back. A large pink sign decorated in little hearts and roses proclaimed "BUY A ROSE GRAM FOR YOUR SPECIAL SOMEONE — $2.00" and behind the table sat two Student Council members offering the grams and taking money. Alfred had his eyes on one of them in particular, and he sighed as a small smile he never got to see in person was given to an approaching student.

"You should go up and buy one, Al."

Alfred jumped with a squeak as his twin came up behind him, smiling innocently as he turned to pout. Matt had Kumajiro in his arms, the bear his boyfriend had gotten him last Valentine's.

"Shut up, Matt," Alfred said, looking back at the table. There was a small line now as kids finished their lunch and decided to buy flowers to be sent to their significant others at the end of the week.

"Well, why not?" Matthew asked. "You're always watching him like a creep anyway." Alfred glared at him, trying to get him to stop talking to no avail. He just dropped his voice and stage-whispered patronizingly, "At least this way you can maybe say hi."

Shoving his brother's face out of his own, frowning at Matt's laughing, he glanced around to make sure no one was looking at them. Thankfully, the rest of the student body wasn't paying them any attention, carrying on their eating. His stomach grumbled and he remembered he'd passed up the lunch line in favor of staring at his crush of about four years now. It was Senior Year, and he'd met Artie their freshman year. He'd been in love ever since.

"He'd only roll his eyes and call me an idiot or something," he said, shoulders slumping. "Besides, you know it's  _him_ I wanna ask out, Matt. That would just be awkward."

"Then give it to Francis instead." His brother gestured to his boyfriend, who was sitting with Arthur and smiling at each of the girls that came up, no doubt turning up his French charms and flirting with him. Matt frowned at him, and Alfred couldn't help but laugh. "Anyway," Matt shook his head, "he'll be more than happy to make sure Arthur doesn't see it until Friday. He's got money riding on you asking him to the dance."

"Whoa, hey now," Alfred protested, throwing his hands up. "Sending an anonymous rose gram is  _totally_ different than asking him out to the Valentine's Sweethearts Ball. I never said I was asking him to that."

"Of course you are," Matthew stated, giving him the "this-decision-has-already-been-made-for-you" look. "Besides, this year we're doing this thing where you can have someone on the Student Council ask out the person you want to ask out. Just add on that you'd like to ask them out, pay an extra dollar or two, and whoever delivers the gram to them will ask if they'll go to the dance with you."

Alfred blinked at his brother, looking between him and the table where Arthur was now frowning at Francis, and the French student was smirking back, dropping stray rose petals from the example displays over the Briton's head. "They'll do that?" he asked.

"Sure." Matt shrugged. "If you're scared, I can go over and distract Arthur so you can talk to Francis about it," he added, grinning.

Alfred punched him in the shoulder, grinning back. "I'm not  _scared,_ you asshole." No, just nervous. "But, I mean, if you want to…"

Matt laughed again, taking him by the arm and dragging him across the lunchroom. "C'mon, then, hero. Let's ask out your damsel in distress over there."

Alfred tried pulling away, but gave up quickly as he instead watched the table getting closer, realizing what that meant and how he was about to be  _right in front of Arthur oh god_ and  _buying a friggin' rose gram to ask him out_ —

"Ah, Alfred!" Francis greeted, pulling him out of his inner panicking. " _Et Mathieu! Ça va, chou?_ "

" _Oui._ " Matt pushed Alfred forward, smiling politely. "Al here just wanted to buy a gram."

"Oh, ho! So your heart has been taken after all!" Francis grinned up at them, twirling a spare rose in his fingers as he leaned his chin on his palm. "We'd been wondering."

"Who's this 'we'?" Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms and frowning. Alfred's cheeks heated under those piercing, green eyes, his large, fuzzy brows furrowed. "I couldn't care less about a supposed childish crush."

The pain in his chest made Alfred frown. "It's not childish," he protested. "It's just—"

"It's love!" Francis interrupted, looking aghast at his best frenemy's claim. "And love is not childish!  _You_ are simply jealous,  _rosbif!"_

Arthur rolled his eyes, looking away, face red. Alfred sighed, Matt giving him a sympathetic look, and he turned back to his brother's boyfriend. "Anyway, Matt's right. I did wanna buy a gram."

Francis sat back, smiling again. " _Excellent!_ Do you want one rose, half a bouquet, or a full one?" He pointed to the displays of half and full bouquets. "The roses all come in different colors, though they are allowing students to pay extra for custom colors, if you'd like."

"Why would we want different colors?" Alfred asked, glancing at his crush before back at the French student.

Arthur spoke up. "To send more specific messages," he sighed, as if he'd tired of answering the question. Alfred immediately felt bad for not already knowing, but it wasn't like he could've helped it. Arthur pushed a printout to him, and he looked down at it. "Rose colors mean different things, as all flowers have always had special meaning. By sending combinations of colors, you can say a great deal more than the pathetic excuse for a card we attach could."

Alfred examined the card, reading the colors and meanings behind different colors and combinations of the colors. He paused at a few of the colors, biting his lip as he wondered what sort of combination, if any, would communicate his feelings. He glanced up at Arthur, then back down, and pursed his lips. "What would you send, Artie?" he asked, feeling his pulse quicken when the Briton's eyes caught his.

"Me?" Arthur clarified. "Well, I suppose it depends on what you want to say."

"Do you have a crush?" Alfred braced himself for indignant grumbling, as Arthur wasn't the most open person about his feelings, but he was surprised when a thoughtful, almost sad look crossed his face.

"While that is none of your business," he said slowly, giving Alfred a severe look, "if I  _did,_ I would send a combination of red and yellow, or perhaps even just a single red-tipped yellow. I assume you're friends with your — the person you like?"

Alfred began to nod, but frowned slightly as he started thinking. They'd never had more than one class together a year, and while they did talk, it was more arguing than anything. Alfred was on the football team, the school star and popular, while Arthur was Student Council President, nerdy and sort of in the background. Alfred had always made time for him, to see him in the halls or sit next to him, but were they really "friends"?

"I'm not sure," he finally said. "Sometimes I think we are, but we argue a lot and I never talk to him outside of school." He bit his lip again, worried that maybe that was too obvious who he was talking about, but Arthur just looked to be concentrating harder, so he relaxed.

"Hm, then perhaps you should add in a peach one, as well. To show him that you're grateful for him and any time you may get to spend with him."

Alfred smiled, heart light. "That sounds good! So, how many of each?"

Arthur looked down at the printout, seemingly calculating in his head. "I would say perhaps one peach and five of the red-tipped yellow. Peach for your gratitude for him in your life, and the red-tipped yellow to signify friendship, or falling in love. Six roses mean a need to be loved or cherished, and the single peach will mean 'utmost devotion'." Arthur looked at critically, his eyes like emeralds. "You are the devoted sort, aren't you."

Alfred nodded. "I try to be." Turning to Francis, he pulled out his wallet and handing him enough for the half-bouquet in trade for one of the little pieces of paper that was attached to the flowers, telling the deliverers what class and who to give them to. "Oh!" He leaned forward, covering the paper as he gestured for Francis to lean closer. "Matt said y'all are also asking out people's crushes to the dance for them?"

Francis nodded, smirking knowingly. "Shall I ask him for you,  _chère_ _?_ "

"If you don't mind," Alfred grinned, blushing and stealing a quick glance of Arthur, who was now conversing with Matthew in hushed tones. "Thanks, Francis."

"Anything for  _le frère de mon chou."_ Francis took the card once Alfred finished scrawling Arthur's name and third period class, plus a short message telling him he hoped he liked the roses. He didn't sign it, but based on the fact that Arthur had pretty much picked out his own bouquet, he had a feeling the Briton would know.

"Thanks, guys!" he said, just as the bell ending lunch rang. He waved to them as he turned with his brother to head to class. "See ya later, Artie!"

"It's  _Arthur,_ you git!" the Briton called back, and Alfred smiled.

"That went well," Matthew commented, hoisting his bear in his arms. "You will have to get a suit, though, you realize."

Alfred paused in his trek to class, looking at his brother with wide eyes. "You don't think Artie will help me again, do you?" He gasped. "Do you think he'll want to color-code like Nat did?" He and Natalya had won Homecoming King and Queen that year, and Arthur had been great in advising him on clothing. He didn't think he could do it himself, and his Artie was a million times more important than she was.

Matthew shrugged, entering their shared Physics class and taking his seat. "I'll have Francis help you, then."

Alfred groaned, slumping into his own seat.

_Fantastic._

 

* * *

 

It was nerve-wracking sitting in class on Friday. Alfred's leg bounced incessantly beneath his desk, and he tapped his pen in off-beat rhythms. He didn't much like his English class anyway (not that there was anything wrong with it; he just didn't like having to read a whole bunch of boring old text he had to translate first), so the distraction of the Student Council members coming around to deliver the rose grams and Valentine's Sweethearts Ball invites was almost welcome. He kept an eye on the door, waiting for them to get to his classroom.

"You need to chill, man," Gilbert said on his right. Alfred looked over. "He's gonna say yes."

"How do  _you_ know?" Alfred hissed back, smiling when the teacher gave him the Evil Eye. "Did you send one to  _your_ crush?" The blush that rose on his friend's pale face made him smirk.

"At least I'm asking him in person," Gil grumbled. "But I'm awesome like that, so."

"Hey, there's no shame in not looking stupid in front of, like, a whole buncha people," Alfred muttered, but the nerves running through him made him question his decision, wonder if he shouldn't have just asked Arthur face-to-face.

Gilbert didn't respond, and they turned to face the door as a knock came. Their teacher opened it, letting the members delivering into the room and stepping back so they could hand things out. Alfred's eyes darted to Arthur sitting at the front of the room, watching the proceedings with bored eyes. Francis, one of the deliverers, smiled brightly as he began calling out names. Several of the single roses came to Alfred himself, and he felt himself redden in embarrassment at each coo the girls gave him; he didn't miss the look in Arthur's eyes as the Briton pointedly turned away, and he smiled at the thought that maybe Arthur would say yes.

"And last, but certainly not least," Francis said, grabbing the last of the bouquets, "a lovely arrangement for our own president, Arthur Kirkland!"

Several loud gasps sounded in the room, and the surprised look on Arthur's face as Francis handed him the roses was nearly comical enough to make Alfred laugh out loud if it hadn't been for the sudden sense of doom he felt.

"The sender, who wishes to remain anonymous to the rest of you," Francis smiled an empathetic smile at the class as a whole, "would also like to know if you'd join them as their date to the Sweethearts Ball?"

Arthur was still staring at the vase of gorgeous red-tipped yellow roses, perfectly encircling a lone peach-colored rose in their center. Incredulous understanding covered his face as a hand gently reached up to touch their petals, tracing over them as though he couldn't believe they were really for him. Alfred bit his lip, wanting to hide his face but unable to look away as Arthur read the card attached, letting out a soft, fond huff of air. He turned in his seat, catching Alfred's eyes and quickly letting them go as he faced Francis, clearing his throat.

"O-Oh, um, y-yes," he stuttered, and Alfred's heart skipped a beat. A soft smile spread across his face as he looked back at the flowers, his cheeks a pale red. "Yes, I'd love to."

Alfred smiled widely to himself as a collective "aww" sounded, looking over at Gilbert and resisting sticking his tongue out. The German just rolled his eyes, giving him a subtle thumbs up. The teacher smiled and herded the council members out the door, Francis blowing kisses as he sauntered out, and resumed the lesson.

Alfred glanced back over at Arthur, and as if sensing it, he looked up, catching Alfred's eyes with his green ones. The color almost glowed with his happiness, and Arthur gave him a shy smile, pulling the peach one out of the vase and running it along his lips. " _Thank you,_ " he mouthed, and Alfred looked down at his desk, suddenly timid and extremely happy.

When class let out, Alfred gathered his things, prepared to walk out with Gil when a piece of paper was dropped on his desk. He looked up just as Arthur swept out of the room, bouquet in his arms, heading towards Kiku to their next class. He grinned and opened the note.

"What's it say?" Gilbert asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"'Francis has your tux'," Alfred read, squinting at the perfect cursive from behind his glasses. "'I'll see you at his house tomorrow at six'."

"Are you and Matt riding with them, then?"

"Guess so." Alfred hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, swinging an arm around his friend's neck as the entered the hallway and melted into the throng of students. "Matt was talking about doing dinner beforehand, too, so that's probably it."

"Awesome." Turning his head, Gilbert caught sight of something and slipped out from his arm. "There's the little master — I'll see ya at the dance, Al! I got a  _Princezzin_  to ask out!"

Alfred waved him off. "See ya there, Gil!" With a smile on his lips, Alfred headed to his next class, a skip in his step.

 

* * *

 

Alfred adjusted his bowtie for the umpteenth time as the limo drove them from the restaurant to the school, squinting at his reflection in the window as best he could in the low light. Hands smacked his away, and he grinned down at Arthur as the Briton huffed at him.

"I told you not to mess with it," Arthur grumbled, redoing the knot in the fabric once again. "I had it perfect and you touched it."

"It was choking me," Alfred protested, tilting his head up to let Arthur do what he wanted. He glared at Matt's stifled laughter. "Shut up, dickwad. Just 'cause you decided on a regular tie…"

"I didn't decide anything other than having a boyfriend that knows fashion," Matt corrected, leaning against said boyfriend. Francis smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips, and Alfred made a face.

"Ew, keep it PG over there, will ya?"

Arthur, finished with his bowtie, smoothed down his lapels and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Because you have a problem with overly intimate displays of affection?" he smirked.

Alfred smirked back and leaned down to press their mouths together, feeling Arthur smile against him and lick at his lips. "No. Just  _their_ overly intimate displays of affection. I love yours."

"Ah,  _chou,_ isn't love just the greatest?" Francis sighed longingly, tossing his hair out of his face. It was tied back with a deep red ribbon in honor of the holiday, matching the red tie he was wearing.

They all chuckled, finishing the drive to the school with friendly chatter. They got out and walked up to the building together, following the paths until they reached the building that housed the gym, the only room big enough to hold a dance. Smiling for pictures, they took one of all four of them, then separate ones for the brothers and best frenemies, and then as couples, arms around their dates and soft kisses to cheeks.

The gym was decorated as Alfred expected, with white and red streamers hanging from all walls and the ceiling. Balloons were tied down in corners of the rooms and backs of chairs, confetti covered the bleachers and the floor, and a stage at the far end was home to a DJ mixing tunes that blasted in their ears. A table along one wall was covered with bowls of punch, cups, and platters upon platters of finger foods. Students dressed to the nines mingled in the center, chatter covering the music, dancing to what they could hear.

It was really nice, actually.

Francis and Matthew waved and left to find other friends, leaving Alfred to turn to Arthur and hold out a hand as the music slowed. "May I have this dance?" he asked with a smile.

Arthur smiled back, pulling him close. "Well, since you asked properly," he teased. His arms wound around Alfred's neck, Alfred's slipping around the Briton's waist and holding him tight as they swayed to the soft, gentle notes of a love song.

"I was almost scared you weren't gonna agree to go," Alfred admitted, turning in slow circles in time with the song. "I didn't think you liked me at all."

A hand cupped his cheek. "That's because you're a silly boy," Arthur murmured against his jaw, pressing a light kiss to the skin right below his ear, causing a shiver to race down his spine. "When you came up to our table that day, and your brother said you had a crush you wanted to buy roses for, I just about wanted to run him through with my pen."

"Matt?" Alfred chuckled. "Why?"

"Because he couldn't be right, I thought." They turned in another slow circle. "I thought, 'No, he doesn't have a crush on anyone.  _I_ don't, why would he?'" He chuckled softly, and Alfred nuzzled into his soft blond hair. "I was —  _am_  — in love with you," he said quietly. "It hurt to hear that you might feel that way for someone else."

Humming against his temple, Alfred pulled Arthur closer. "It's been you for four years, Artie," he said. "Always."

Maybe it was too fast. Maybe they were too young, too naïve, too inexperienced. But Alfred didn't want to think about that. He was happy with Arthur in his arms; he felt invincible, untouchable, like he could do anything as long as Arthur was there. Maybe they didn't talk as often as they could, but they  _knew_ each other.

And Alfred knew there was nowhere he'd rather be but with Arthur.

Tightening his hold, Alfred hugged Arthur to him, leaning down the couple inches' difference in their height, stealing yet another kiss, one of many they would come to share. "Happy Valentine's, Artie."

"Happy Valentine's, love."


	5. Amor Liquamentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon. Worn Leather. Midsummer's Night. These are the smells Arthur Kirkland has fallen in love with. There should be a spell to bottle it all up, like those Muggle candles Kiku has become so fond of. Arthur would have to call it "Alfred Jones." Pottertalia AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Cinematic; work must include movies/movie AUs."

The halls were filled with soft chatter as Arthur made his way through them towards his Potions class, the unusually sunny day adding a lazy, calm atmosphere to the corridors of Hogwarts. It was the middle of winter, but light streamed in from the large windows and the crisp smell of snow was refreshing. Arthur inhaled deeply, his robes flying out behind him as he kicked into a jog across the courtyard, headed for the classrooms in the dungeons.

Down below was dark, as always, but the smell of the snow penetrated deep, airing out the acrid fumes of failed concoctions and possibly lethal mixtures. He entered the classroom behind a large group of his peers, nimbly avoiding running into them as they stopped to gossip —  _right in the doorway, honestly_ — taking his seat at one of the tables near the back. Kiku was already seated, the other Ravenclaw's nose buried in a book as they waited for class to start.

" _Ohayo_ , Arthur-san," Kiku greeted, eyes on his book. "How are you this morning?"

Arthur grunted in response, setting his books down on the table. "I've been better," he replied. "I was up late last night writing that essay for Divination, and of course it was the night that that idiot and his cronies decided to invade the library." He rolled his eyes.

Kiku looked at him with sympathetic dark eyes, lined with dark circles. "I understand completely," he said quietly.

They sat in silence as the rest of the class trickled in slowly, the students taking their seats as the Professor swept in. He rummaged behind his desk for a moment before producing a tightly sealed cauldron, setting it up at the front where they all could see it, and then searching for his notes and lesson plan in the stacks of papers scattered about.

"Alright class," the professor called, and Arthur settled into his seat more comfortably. "Today, we'll be identifying what's in this cauldron here, and you'll be attempting to recreate it on your own at your tables.

"Now," he came around from behind his desk, leaning up against it and crossing his arms. "This is probably one of the more dangerous concoctions known to the wizarding world, as it can be addictive, and it influences your thoughts and feelings. You must be extremely careful today, but first, let's get one of you up here to figure it out. Who wants to volunteer?"

Arthur glanced around the room, seeing that everyone remained seated. Potions wasn't his strongest suit, as he preferred subjects where he didn't have to throw ingredients together and hope they didn't explode, but he was also a Prefect, and therefore needed to be an example to his peers. He raised his hand with a grudging sigh.

"Kirkland!" The professor smiled and gestured him forward. "Up front!"

Arthur pushed himself from his seat, walking around the desks of students, joining the professor at his desk. The cauldron bubbled merrily in front of him, and he peered into the clear lid on top of it with narrowed eyes. The color was a sheer, mother-of-pearl, and the smoke coalescing against the lid wound in circles. His eyebrows raised.

"Now, Kirkland," Arthur looked at the professor. "I'm going to remove the lid, and I want you to tell the class what you think it is." With a wave of his wand, the professor levitated the lid off, setting it beside the cauldron and allowing the aroma of the liquid to float to Arthur. He inhaled on reflex, and the scents that overwhelmed him made him gasp softly.

Cinnamon. Worn leather. Midsummer's Night. Those were the smells Arthur had fallen in love with. They mixed together effortlessly, as if they were one, yet were separate and solely one scent. It was soothing, familiar, and it made his heart race and his skin tingle and his blood heat his cheeks. As he breathed them in, he thought to himself that there should be a spell to bottle it all up, like those Muggle candles Kiku had become so fond of, the ones that came in a variety of aromas and scents, from fruit types to cloth items to abstract, intangible things; things like apple cider, clean cotton, and the evening air.

Arthur would have to call it "Alfred Jones."

The Gryffindor always insisted on chewing Muggle gum, a habit Arthur mocked out loud but loved how it made the American's breath smell so enticing, like the holidays and home and family. He loved the old, torn jacket Alfred wore constantly, a gift from his grandfather from one of the World Wars that had gone on outside of the wizarding world that Arthur had grown up in. He could spend endless amounts of time wrapped in the scent of cologne Alfred used, a fresh, warm smell that clung to the American and followed him everywhere, drawing Arthur's attention no matter where he was in the room.

Arthur loved it all.

"It's  _Amortentia,_ " he said quietly, looking at the potion with lidded eyes. "A love potion of such potency that the person who drinks it immediately becomes obsessed with the object of their affections."

As if he weren't already. His eyes glanced up, and he caught the blue, blue eyes of the Gryffindor watching him curiously, a smile on those lips.

"And how can we tell?" the professor asked.

"It has several indicators," Arthur said, looking back at it. "The mother-of-pearl color to it, and the spiraling characteristic of the smoke. The smell is the most telling, however."

The professor looked at him from behind round glasses. "How so?"

Arthur shuffled his feet, feeling his cheeks redden. "It smells different to everyone, according to what their object of affection is."

"And what does it smell like to you right now?"

Arthur stole a glance at Alfred again, seeing interest in those eyes. "U-Um, well," he stuttered, casting his eyes down again, "It, um, it smells like…" He took a deep breath, bringing his eyes up again and meeting the deep blue watching him as if his answer held the meaning of life. "It smells like Alfred Jones, sir."

Several gasps came from the students in the room, and Arthur wanted to hide his face in his hands, it felt so red.  _Merlin,_ why did he say that? But Alfred hadn't looked away from him, and he couldn't bring himself to drop his eyes. Alfred actually looked…  _delighted._ A wide smile was on his face, his lips spread to show off his white teeth, and Arthur felt his heart pump harder, blood rushing through his veins.

"Interesting," the professor said, bringing Arthur's attention back to him. He was smiling slightly, and Arthur felt himself flush with irritation and embarrassment, though the joy filling him made it hard to care much. "Thank you, Kirkland. Fifteen points to Ravenclaw."

With a nod, Arthur headed back to his seat, slumping down beside Kiku and resolutely keeping his eyes on his table for the rest of the lesson.  _Amortentia_  was an advanced level potion, and it took all of his concentration to not miss a single step, but at the end of class his brew had turned out decently. He breathed a sigh of relief as he exited the classroom with Kiku, heading to the Astronomy towers for their Divination class.

"Artie! Wait up!"

Arthur stopped at the voice, smiling at Kiku and gesturing him on ahead. "Time to deal with the git, I guess," he joked, but it was slightly forced. Kiku only nodded and headed off. Sighing, Arthur turned on his heel to face the approaching Gryffindor, whose robes billowed out as he ran to catch up. "What, Alfred? I have class."

Alfred stopped in front of him, panting lightly from his jog. "What you said in there, about smelling me in the potion — was it true?" he asked, ignoring Arthur's question.

Arthur bit his lip, looking away. They hadn't gotten on at first, jibing at each other and teasing one another as they spent their years at Hogwarts together, but it wasn't a sudden thing. Arthur had grown to know Alfred, to watch him grow and learn and become a leader, one who cared for his friends and helped them whenever he could. He wasn't the self-absorbed eleven-year-old Arthur had met their first night at the school. He was more, and Arthur had fallen hard.

"Yes," he finally said, looking up. "Yes, it's true. I smelt your stupid gum that makes your breath smell like home at Christmas. I smelt your jacket that you wear constantly because it reminds you of your family far away. I smelt your cologne that fills my head and won't leave me in peace because all I can think about is you when it's in the room." He took in a jagged breath, clenching his fists and dropping his eyes to his shoes. "I smelt you."

Alfred was silent for such a long moment that Arthur was afraid he'd left, or was disgusted. "Roses," Alfred finally said, and Arthur glanced up at him under his lashes. "I could smell roses after it's rained when the air draws in their smell. I could smell the delicate aroma of hot Chamomile freshly brewed, because you love that in particular when you read. Old books, and even a slight hint of something burned." He smiled, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"That's  _you_ , Artie." Alfred's hand lifted to his chin, tilting it up. "I smelled  _you._ "

Arthur couldn't help but smile as Alfred leaned down to kiss him.

Maybe he didn't need to bottle up the scent after all.


	6. Clockwork Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Kingdom of Spades, the Queen's life is tied to the Clock of Eternity. If the Clock stops, so does the Queen. Cardverse AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Parallel Lives; work must be set in an AU, alternate reality, or crossover."
> 
> **Warnings:** non-explicit sex, **major character death**
> 
> _This is set within the parameters of my Cardverse two-shot_ Ocean Blue _but is NOT a follow up._

They were running out of time.

Arthur paced across the length of his and his husband's chambers, arms crossed in front of him and his coat swaying with each step. His boots clacked against the marbled floor, the sound of them reverberating through the empty, dimly lit space, the uncanny silence a suffocating, intangible entity around him. The chairs used but an hour ago remained scattered in upheaval in the adjacent meeting room, the rush of their occupants evident in the overturned heaps; the only two still upright were his own and his King's at the head of the long conference table.

"Artie?"

Arthur turned quickly, tightening his arms around himself as he faced his King. His face was drawn, tired; he looked so much older than the bright, exuberant young man the Queen had met for the first time so many years ago. His deep blue coat was haggard, rumpled from nights spent sleeping in it as he oversaw the movements of the Spade's Army, meeting with commanders and planning their next moves, too tired to even return to bed, to his Queen, in the late hours of the night.

Alfred moved forward, opening his arms, and Arthur fell against him, burying his face in his husband's neck and inhaling the familiar scent of the tanned skin, sighing as strong arms wrapped around him and held him. He was so tired.

"What's going on out there, Alfred?" Arthur pulled back only enough to look up into the blue eyes he had fallen in love with, the ones that had haunted his dreams for so long in his life before the Queen of Spades. His arms remained around Alfred's waist, his hands fisted in his blue coat. Against his chest, Arthur could feel the steady ticking of the King's Watch hanging from his husband's lapel, could feel it in sync with his heart that beat with the Clock just across the room.

Alfred pulled him back to his chest, pressing a kiss to his temple. "They're getting bolder," he said quietly, his voice holding such a helpless tone that Arthur brought his hands up, cupping his King's face as Alfred looked at him with eyes filled with hurt, with anguish.  _His people were suffering._  "We managed to fight back a good wave or two, but they just keep coming, Artie. They're fast and nearly indestructible, and I've been using so much power I'm not sure I have any more to use."

"Then let me help, Alfred," Arthur implored, looking up at his husband. "You know I can. I'm the bloody  _Queen,_ for god's sake!"

" _No_ , Artie." Alfred ran a hand through Arthur's hair before looking away. "That's what they want, you know that. They're killing the people they take —  _our people._ " He looked back at Arthur, who felt his heart crack at the desperation in the eyes behind glasses. "You need to be able to concentrate and use your power to help them, Artie. I don't… I  _can't_ risk them taking you by…"

Arthur caressed his husband's face as Alfred trailed off with a choke, his heart tearing inside for his beloved. "We  _will_ stop them," he asserted, resting his palm against the smooth cheek, his thumb tracing just under an ocean blue eye. "I managed to contact Kiku, and Hearts will be sending reinforcements as soon as they can. Clubs has decided to send men to the coast, to try to stop the Chessmen at the shores. Diamonds is being evacuated." He gently lifted Alfred's face, gazing into those ocean blue eyes. "Matthew is on his way; he'll be able to help."

The Aces held incredible power when paired with those of the Kings and Queens of their Kingdoms, though they hadn't been Marked for hundreds of years. It was also rare for the Marks to show up in the same bloodline at the same time, and twins like Alfred and Matthew were unheard of completely. Arthur only hoped the Ace could do anything; the Clubs Ace was leading the frontline to the borders of Hoyle, and the Hearts Ace was stationed at the borders between Spades and Diamonds with the Diamonds Militias. The Ace of Diamonds was yet to be found.

Really, all their forces were spread too thin. The Chessmen as a people were geared for war and destruction, trained from young ages to be able to fight and conquer. The lands of Hoyle and Philidor had been at peace for centuries, coexisting with minimal hostility if not completely without violence, but a change had come with the creation of the Hoylian Councils; the monarchs of Philidor were traditionalists, and they believed absolutely in the power of their Kings and Queens. They were afraid their people would be led by example.

And so they were at war.

Returning from his thoughts, Arthur leaned up to kiss his husband, sliding their lips together like they hadn't in too long, letting his hands travel up into blond hair and tangling them there. "We'll win this, love," he murmured softly, kissing along his King's jaw and down his neck, feeling him shiver. It had been too long since they had a chance to be together this way, and heat was filling Arthur as he nuzzled against his husband.

Alfred responded with passion and urgency, holding his Queen close and bringing their lips back together, returning the kiss as if it were his last. He bit at Arthur's lip, drawing it into his mouth and sucking, drawing out a moan from his Queen, licking his way into Arthur's mouth. Arthur melted against him, hands gripping at his King and holding tight, pulling him closer, sliding under his coat and shoving it away. Alfred moved him backwards carefully, directing him towards the large bed they shared, and Arthur fell onto it as his legs hit the edge, looking up at his King with hooded eyes and a flushed face, his breathing heavy.

Alfred climbed atop him, locking their mouths back together. His hands slid under Arthur's coat, pushing it over his shoulders and down his arms before sliding it off and tossing it aside. Arthur let his head fall back as his King placed kisses over his neck, and he worked on getting their waistcoats and shirts unbuttoned as their hips grinded together, the need for release building within, warming his limbs and tingling in his nerves. As soon as the rest of their clothes were on the floor, Arthur pulled Alfred against his bare skin, reveling in the feel of their bodies pressed together, slick with sweat and burning with the intimacy of their passion.

The way Alfred moved within him, filling him and claiming him roughly and with so much devotion and love, was what Arthur lived for. They complimented each other with every hard thrust that made him shake and tremble with want and need, every loud moan that filled the room with the sound of their bond, every lasting kiss that left the Queen breathless under the strength and power of his King. Alfred was beautiful, with his warm bronze skin over taut muscles that rippled as he rolled his hips against Arthur, contrasted against the ivory white of his Queen's fair skin; his blue eyes that held all the wonder and curiosity of a child, yet were older and more knowledgeable than any; his heart of gold that only wanted the best for his Kingdom and his people, that held deep and eternal love for his Queen.

Arthur came with a loud cry of his King's name, the blissful euphoria wrapping around his mind as Alfred filled him a moment later, laying over him as they breathed together, sharing soft kisses and body warmth. The warm summer breeze cooled the sweat glistening on their skin as they lay in their bed, tucked against one another as the sun set outside their window.

"Gilbert's meeting with us tomorrow," Alfred said after a while. They were now situated properly in the bed, dressed in their night clothes. Alfred leaned on the pillows and Arthur curled up at his side, head resting on his husband's shoulder. His hand traced light patterns against the tanned skin above the waistline of the pyjama trousers, while Alfred's teased just above the Queen's mark on his back under his nightshirt. "The Jokers have decided to intervene as much as they can."

The last time Arthur had seen the white-haired Joker had been his wedding. At the time, he'd been warned of a danger coming, one he needed to prepare for. He never would have thought it was so close.

"I hope they can do something," Arthur murmured, looking over at the large windows, out into the Gardens. The moon shone high in the sky, naught but a crescent in the midnight blue expanse.

From the corner of his eyes, a shadow moved, and Arthur turned his head just as a hooded figure started toward the window. His eyes widened as he noticed the broadsword in its hand, and he sat up quickly, causing Alfred to look over, as the figure broke through the window. Alfred rolled them over at the sound, taking them to the floor as he reached for his own sword kept beneath their bed.

Arthur stood, setting into a stance that was familiar, holding a hand out, and felt the rush of warmth that always came when he called on the power within him. A circular sigil appeared in front of his palm, and the figure flew across the room, crashing with a grunt through the other half of the window and onto the balcony.

"Get out of here, Arthur!" Alfred shouted, shoving him towards the door. "Take the Clock and go find Yao! Meet me in the Garden at the escape tunnels!"

Nodding, Arthur stepped over broken window glass to the shelves where the Clock of Eternity, the source of the Queen's power and life, rested, ticking steadily on. He grabbed it carefully, cradling it against his chest as he ran out of their room, taking one of the scattered swords as he raced down the long hallways to the Jack's quarters across the palace. As he ran, he caught sight of guards clashing swords and guns with several black-hooded figures, shouting and the clang of metal filling his ears. His heart pounded with adrenaline, memories of his life as Captain Kirkland surfacing in the chaos.

It was easy to slip back into the role of feared pirate as he made his way through his home; the moves came back to him easy as breathing, despite having not wielded a sword in almost two years. His magic allowed him better speed, more maneuvers that tossed the hooded assassins out of his way. Blood stained his shirt and bare legs, his face and hair, and it brought out a certain, sadistic thrill when he took one of them to their knees, screaming in agony.

Shaking with contained rage and fear, Arthur made it to the Jack's quarters to see scattered bodies, blood pooling on the deep blue carpet, and Yao's long robe stained at the hem. The Oriental Jack looked at him calmly, wiping his sword against his leg, long hair pulled over his shoulder.

"Your Highness," he greeted solemnly, bowing his head. "Are you injured?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Arthur assured him, looking down at himself. "Alfred told us to meet him at the escape tunnels. They have the front entrance blocked anyway, and they're still coming in through the windows. I left Alfred in our room."

"Then let's go." The Jack sheathed his sword, stepping over the wasted lives and taking Arthur by the arm, both of them exiting the room and running down the halls. "They're after you, your Highness. We received intel that they're planning assassinations of all the monarchs of all the Kingdoms."

"A total take-over, then?" Arthur shook his head, peering around a corner as shouts sounded from down the corridor. "They want to rid the most powerful in Hoyle and insert themselves."

"That's what we believe," Yao agreed. "They're targeting the Queens in particular, as you are the most powerful, able to wield magick unlike they can comprehend. And by taking out the Queens—"

"They take out the source of life in Hoyle," Arthur finished, his gut dropping. The Queens of Hoyle were the most in tune with the land, the vessels through which Nature shaped herself for the people. They were tied to the fate of life itself through their symbols of power; they could not be killed by any means other than Nature herself. If they ridded the land of one of its Queens before his or her time, there was no telling what could happen.

"They don't have Lilli, do they?" Arthur asked, looking to his Jack with worried eyes. Diamonds was in no condition to fight; she would be in the highest danger.

"No, Arthur," Yao said, pulling him to the doors of the throne room. "She is safe in Clubs, for now. We thought it best to have the Royals of Diamonds where the Chessmen would not immediately go."

He relaxed slightly, but the twisting of his stomach made him want to be sick. He'd fought many battles, but never had they been as gruesome as the war with the Chessmen. They were ruthless savages, killing for the sport of it, to make a statement, to wipe out an entire people and way of life. The people of Hoyle  _needed_ to win this war.

The throne room was quiet as they entered, and Arthur followed Yao to the doors to the Royal Gardens. They stepped out into the night, the air a warm, gentle caress on Arthur's face as they nimbly made their way over the gravel paths to the forest of trees on the borders of the palace walls. Standing beneath an aging weeping willow, Alfred's figure stood out in the moonlight, his face half-lit by a silvery beam, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief.

"Alfred!" Handing the Clock to the Jack, Arthur raced over to his husband, throwing his arms around his neck and burying his face against the skin of his collarbone. Arms held him tightly, and he pulled back to press their lips together in a desperate, panicked kiss. "Oh, love, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Artie," Alfred smiled at him, "you?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. They've got run of the palace, Alfred. The guards stopped as many as they could, but they're still coming—"

A sudden yelp from Yao cut him off, and Arthur was pushed behind Alfred as several figures stepped out of the shadows of the trees. His King was immediately engaged in a sword battle against two of the assassins, and Arthur threw out his hands reflexively, throwing up shields that knocked back the ones heading for him. With a flick of his wrist, another went flying into the hedge walls, and spinning around, his sword sunk into the abdomen of yet another, crimson spilling onto his hand as he ripped it away.

Arms caught him from behind, and Arthur struggled in their grasp. Huffing, he threw his head back, knocking the body away before sweeping his arm out and, with a surge of power, having the nearest tree pick the figure up and toss him away. "Alfred, we have to go!" he shouted, once again stepping out of the way of an attacker.

"Yao, get Arthur out of here!" Alfred shouted back, still locked with an assassin. Yao was over to their left, swinging his own blade around at the figures attempting to go after the Clock.

"No!" Arthur planted his feet, a sigil circling out and knocking away several figures. He could feel his body weakening with such bursts of power, using too much at once. "No, I'm not leaving you, Alfred!  _Please,_ we need to go!" Arms grabbed him again, lifting him off the ground. "Oi! Let me go!"

"Arthur!" Alfred took out the assassins around him, turning to head to his Queen's aid.

Pulling power directly from his center, feeling it rush through him, Arthur let it erupt around him, knocking his captor to the ground ten feet away. He fell back to his feet on the ground, running to Alfred. Just as their hands met, stretched in between them, Arthur felt the stab too late, and everything stopped.

" _Arthur!"_

Numbness. A complete lack of feeling. His breath wouldn't come, and the night sky was turning grey. Arthur stared forward at Alfred, eyes wide as a single point of warmth in the dead cold that gripped him spread over his chest, right at his heart, before leaving just as suddenly as if it were being ripped straight from his very being. Everything around him was still, frozen, silent. Slowly, as if through thick molasses, he turned his head just slightly.

Yao was on the ground, held down by one of the hooded figures. Several more stood around him, just watching from hidden eyes. The Gardens were covered with blood, black against the pale grey of the grass as the moon was covered by rolling clouds. In front of him, Alfred was still reaching for him.

And a meter away, laying on the ground with a sword sticking out of it, glass cracked like spider webs, was the Clock.

Time started again in a burst of energy, and all he knew was pain as he collapsed to the ground, unable to feel his legs or arms, head pounding, breathing ragged and nearly impossible.

" _NO! ARTHUR!"_

Alfred's voice was muffled in his ears, like speaking through water. A muted weight pressed against him, and it was a moment before he placed it as his King's arms wrapping around him, pulling him to Alfred as his husband fell to his knees. Arthur trembled, but couldn't feel it, his vision fuzzy and fading around the edges, his breaths airy and shallow.

"No, no, no, no, no — stay with me, Artie,  _please_ stay with me, sweetheart." Alfred's voice pulled what attention he could muster, and his tried to focus his eyes on the blue ones in front of him. "It's gonna be okay, sweetheart, you're gonna be okay." His voice cracked, and Arthur did feel the stab of pain in his own heart at the heartbreaking sound.

Using all his remaining strength, even as it slowly started slipping away, Arthur brought a shaking hand, his fingers white against the night sky, to gently, weakly caress Alfred's face. He was strangely calm, almost peaceful despite it all, but maybe that was because he couldn't feel himself. "Shh, love," he cooed, and his voice was low, nothing more than a breath. "It's alright."

Tears wet his fingertips, and Alfred leaned into his hand, gripping it with one of his own. "I'll fix this, Artie," he promised, blinking away the tears, leaning down to press a kiss to Arthur's cool forehead; his lips were hot against the Queen's skin. "I'm gonna fix this, and you'll be okay."

"No, no," Arthur protested, trying to shift so he could look at Alfred. "Don't mess with Nature, love. It hurts, but this is what had to happen." He knew there were tears falling from his own eyes because they were dripping onto Alfred's hand on his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Alfred."

His lip trembled, and the King took in a ragged breath. "I can't do this without you, Artie." Alfred leaned over again, lightly laying his forehead against Arthur's, his lips hovering over his Queen's. "I don't— I can't—  _please,_ sweetheart. Don't do this to me."

"I love you, Alfred." Arthur could feel himself slipping away, and he managed —  _just_ — to lift himself up enough to press his lips to his husband's. He pulled away, looking into ocean blue eyes, still so full of color and life against the black night sky. " _I will always be here with you._ "

As his breath left him, a broken cry of anguish fell from his King's lips, a cracked  _I love you too, sweetheart,_  and over it he heard a low, monotone voice, unfamiliar, cold, speaking to them for the first, and last, time.

"Long live the Queen."

And time stopped.


	7. I Can Be Your Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred used to think that fighting crime and bringing justice was what made a hero of a person, but he’s found it’s the ordinary, little everyday things — helping with the moving boxes, lending jumper cables, offering a tall glass of ice-cold water on a hot summer day, taking in the stray Scottish Fold despite mild allergies — that make a hero of ordinary, little everyday people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Holding out for a HERO; work must include heroes (as defined by the hosts at [usukcommunity](http://usukcommunity.tumblr.com))"

_When I was young, I loved superheroes. Still do, really, but as a kid, I dreamed of one day being one of them. Flying through the air, using my powers to help the people of the world._

_To me, being a hero was all about the special abilities, about fighting crime and saving people and bringing justice by defeating the villains that we all face._

_It was being recognized and loved by everyone._

.

Alfred wiped the sweat from his forehead as he looked up at the house, grinning madly in the summer sun. It was on the smaller side, sure, but it was  _his,_ and he loved it.

He'd moved for the promotion from narcotics to homicide, changing stations, leaving behind the bustling inner city for a more suburban area. The new neighborhood was quiet, with trim yards and large trees that provided perfect amounts of shade. Little old ladies puttered about in their gardens, and there was a family of six down the way, the kids shouting and running around on their summer vacation. A few cars were parked along the street, and the community even had a pool. It was great.

Turning back to the moving truck sitting in his new driveway, Alfred went back to pulling box after box out of it, stacking them up to carry in. His large furniture had arrived a couple days before and was already set up, but he had buttloads of knickknacks and books and other stuff that was going to make the house his home.

His arms strained as he grabbed one of the larger boxes, definitely full of textbook-sized bricks, grunting as he pulled it out of the truck. Swinging around, he bumped into the towering boxes that were his shelves to be put back together, and he yelped as they began falling over on top of him, unable to hold out a hand to stop them without dropping his books on his foot.

"AH!"

"Shit—"

The one right above him stopped just inches from his face, while a couple of the others crashed to the ground. Alfred looked up, catching sight of an arm holding onto the box above him, and a face leaned around the side, frowning down at him with eyes the color of freshly mown grass. He had a splash of freckles across his nose, which was pinched up adorably as he struggled with the boxed shelves.

"Are you alright?" The voice was accented, English, and Alfred shook himself out of his slight trance.

"Oh, thanks, man," he said, moving away from his boxes and helping the man to right the boxes. "I thought I was a goner there. What a sad way to go, huh?"

The man looked over at him, large (like,  _dude those are big_ ) eyebrow raised in skepticism. "I suppose," he finally said, slowly, as if unsure whether he should humor Alfred or not. He cleared his throat, straightening his —  _is that a sweater vest? Oh, god, he's so cute_ — and running a hand through the mop of messily done blond hair. "Well, if you're alright, then I shall take my leave. You should be more careful, though. Good day."

Alfred blinked as he began walking to the house next to his, eventually shaking himself out of the abrupt shock of the departure long enough to shout, "Hey! I'm Alfred, by the way! Alfred Jones!"

The Englishman looked back at him, pausing for a moment before calling back "Arthur Kirkland, pleasure" and closing his door behind him.

.

_For years, that's all I believed made a hero: how many people knew your name, knew who you were. I wanted to be known, to be a crime-fighter, someone that protected the innocent._

_That's why I became a detective. Batman's a detective and a superhero, so why not me, right? I wanted to be that cop that chased the bad guys all over town, living the epic, adrenaline-fueled dream of knocking 'em to the ground and cuffing 'em, reading 'em their rights._

_And I am one hell of a detective, don't get me wrong. But I've learned that being a hero… it's not all about fame and fortune._

.

"Shit, shit, shit," Alfred cursed, scowling at the steering wheel of his car as he turned the key. The engine wasn't turning over properly, his car wasn't starting, and he had a case to be at like yesterday. Groaning in frustration, he hit the wheel petulantly, flopping back in his seat and running a hand through his hair.

The sky was in the transitioning phase between too-early morning and dawn, a deep blue with hints of the crystal morning light blue on the eastern horizon. The buses had come to get the kids for school, and the baker that lived down the street who loved to annoy his neighbor had dropped off fresh bread on Alfred's porch as he went in to work, like he did every day.

And Alfred was still sitting in his car, slumped over the steering wheel and  _not at work._

"Car troubles?" a voice asked, and Alfred's lip twitched as he looked up into green eyes looking into the window on the passenger's side.

"How'd you guess?" he asked mockingly, leaning back. He sighed despondently. "Yeah, it won't start."

"Hm." Arthur turned on his heel, walking back toward his house. Alfred watched him, in his white robe and plaid pajamas and green bunny slippers that Alfred had made fun of the first few times while secret melting into goo on the inside because they were seriously the cutest things ever. He almost didn't register it when his neighbor came back, holding a pair of cables in his hands.

"Sounded like the battery," he said, walking to the front of the car. "Open the bonnet, would you?"

Luckily, Alfred had been living next to his very British neighbor for long enough to know that was Arthur-speak for "hood", and he pressed the button to release it. Looking out his window, he saw the other end of the cables connected to Arthur's modest little sedan, ready to charge him up. It took a couple times, but he finally got his car to start, and the sound of his running engine put a smile on his face.

"Thanks so much, Artie!" Alfred laughed, sliding back into his car after helping Arthur put the cables way. "Man, you're a life-saver."

Arthur gave a small quirk of his lips, crossing his arms. "No, you're the life-saver, Detective. I'm just a librarian." He started back toward his house with a small wave. "Have a good day, Alfred."

Alfred waved back, putting the car in reverse. "You too, Artie!"

.

_I've come to realize that you don't have to fight crime, or bring justice, or have superpowers to be a hero. You don't have to be known all over the world, with people shouting your name in praise and rejoicing your very existence._

_I've come to realize the real heroes are the ones we never even hear of at all._

.

The sun beat down on his back as Alfred bent over his car's engine, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag. Music played from the radio situated on a stool by his garage door, blaring classic rock hits and modern pop tunes into the summer afternoon. It was his day off, and he planned to spend it as lazily as he could get away with.

" _I'm hot-blooded, check it and see,_ " he sang along with the radio, smiling as he danced to the song. " _I got a fever of a hundred and three! C'mon, baby, do ya do more than dance?"_

"I do, in fact, do more than dance, yes."

Spinning on his heel, Alfred grinned widely at Arthur standing on the porch, in the shade. His fair skin was still red from their weekend at the lake, and he was being extra cautious not to worsen the sunburn. Alfred dropped the rag to the ground, panting in the heat as he jogged up to his boyfriend, who had a large pitcher of homemade lemonade and glasses sitting on the small glass table by the porch swing.

"Reading Shakespeare and embroidery don't count, Artie," he teased, leaning down to plant a sweaty kiss to the Englishman's lips.

Arthur grunted in annoyance, rolling his eyes. "Of course they do," he countered. "Because you'd count playing video games and seeing how man marshmallows you can stuff in that fat mouth of yours at once."

Alfred waggled his eyebrows. "You love my fat mouth, though."

Arthur snorted, a grin playing on his lips. "Yes, I do." He leaned up, proving his point by stealing another kiss. "You're burning up, love," he commented as he pulled back. "How long have you been out here?"

"Eh, few hours, now," Alfred replied, wiping sweat away. "I mowed earlier, and there was trash to be taken out." He fanned himself dramatically. "It is pretty hot, though. New record, I hear."

Humming in concern to himself, Arthur turned and grabbed a glass, filling it with the lemonade and handing it over to Alfred. "Well, don't overwork yourself. You need to stay hydrated."

"Thanks, sweetheart." Taking a large gulp of the just-this-side-of-perfect lemonade, Alfred sighed in content. "My hero, always watching out for me."

Arthur smiled for real that time, wide and soft, reaching up to pull Alfred's face to his for a kiss. "Anytime, love."

.

_They're the ones that float through life just like we all do. They come in, unannounced, unassuming, just living day to day._

_They're the ones that we bump into on the subway and don't apologize to because we're in a rush._

_They're the ones that take our orders at the coffee shop with a smile that we don't even look at because we're wrapped up in ourselves._

_They're the ones that we take for granted, because we expect their kindness to be the way things just_ are.

.

"Artie, we can't just leave him here!" Alfred was  _this_ close to pouting, staring down at the little ball of fur that was hunched up in his arms. He was a cute little guy, despite the matted fur; his eyes were an astounding green, wide and bright.

Arthur had his nose covered, looking torn. "Alfred, you know I'm allergic to cats," he said patiently. He paused, and a sneeze erupted. "We can't keep him, love. I'd love to, but—" Another sneeze interrupted.

Alfred looked down at the kitten, his lip trembling as the little ball of fluff looked up at him with sad eyes, as if he knew he'd be back on the streets any minute now. Alfred's heart was torn, wanting so bad to give him a home, yet unwilling to put Arthur through allergy-hell by keeping him. He knew, of course, that Arthur would always come first, but he had a weakness for cats, especially kittens, and  _especially_ for little Scottish Folds that looked like his boyfriend.

It had been worth a try, though, and Alfred set the kitten back on the ground, letting his hand linger on the soft fur. "I'm sorry, buddy," he said softly. The kitten bowed its head, as if saying he understood. "But I'm not gonna make Artie suffer sneeze attacks all the time. I love him like that, you know?"

When he stood back up, Arthur wrapped him in a tight hug, and they made their way home from their trip to the store in silence.

For the next few days, Arthur was quiet, thoughtful, and if it weren't for the demand of the most recent case — they were tracking the motives of a suspected serial killer, one who hadn't been seen or heard from in nearly three years, which was why it was throwing them all off — he would've noticed the increase in pill bottles, the random legal papers lying around, and his boyfriend's new obsession with pet toys and the like.

And he didn't notice until a week or so later, when his birthday crept up out of nowhere, and Arthur came home with a carrier and a sack of things from a pet store.

"Whatcha got there, Artie?" he called from the porch, heading down to help his boyfriend carry it all in.

"It's a surprise, isn't it?" Arthur groused, huffing under the weight. "Let me get inside, and I'll let you see."

Deciding to go with the flow, Alfred helped get everything in the house, and then let his boyfriend sit him on the couch, staring up at him expectantly.

"So?"

Bringing the carrier into the room, Alfred kept his eyes on it as Arthur set it on the floor, opening the door. "It's alright, love," he cooed to it. "You can come out now."

Puzzled, Alfred looked between the carrier and Arthur until a small head popped out, orange and white fur surrounding big, green eyes.

"Oh my god!" Alfred fell to his knees with a smile on his face, immediately scooping up the kitten. "Oh, Artie! Wha— I don't—  _how?_ " he asked, looking at his boyfriend. Arthur sat back, smiling at the sight that was Alfred nuzzling a kitten that adored the attention.

"I talked to my doctor right after you found him," he started, "and he prescribed some allergy pills that will help the worst of my symptoms, which is really only bad sneezing and watery eyes." He looked down at his hands. "You just looked so miserable having to leave him there, so I found him a few days later and took him to a vet, got him all checked out and vaccinated, and I was working on adoption papers this past week."

Alfred's eyes were wide as he gazed fondly at the man sitting across from him. "He's ours?"

Arthur laughed. "Yes, love, he's ours. He still needs a name, though. I asked if I could hold off on that until you'd seen him."

Surging forward, Alfred ended up in Arthur's lap, pressing kisses to every patch of skin on his face he could find. "Thank you so much, sweetheart. You really didn't have to do this."

"I know," Arthur laughed again, cupping Alfred's face gently. "But I love you too much to ever say no again."

Alfred chuckled, stealing another kiss. "You say no plenty," he pointed out. "And I love you too." He looked down at the kitten, which was looking up at them with bright eyes, tail swinging lazily. "You know, he reminds me of you, which is why I wanted him. I think you should name him."

Arthur hummed, petting the kitten's head softly, eliciting quiet purrs. "Hm, yes, he is much like me, isn't he?" He paused, looking at the kitten for a long moment before answering. "Scone, I think. I'd like to name him Scone."

Scone purred louder, nuzzling against Arthur's wrist, and Alfred smiled again. "I think we have a winner." He pressed another kiss to Arthur's lips, then another to his forehead. "You saved him, Artie. Thank you."

Arthur returned the kisses, wrapping his arms around Alfred. "And I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. For you."

.

_The real heroes don't dress in weird costumes, using cool gadgets to get around town, gunning down drug lords and terrorism activists every other day, chasing criminals to the ends of the earth to lock them up and serve justice on the silver platter._

_Real heroes are the ones that give all of themselves without a word, who expect nothing in return; that do good things because that's what people should do, not because they'll be called a good person; that are there for you when everyone else leaves you behind._

_So yeah, I'm a kickass detective, fighting crime and locking up the bad guys, saving the day one murder investigation at a time. But the real hero isn't me._

_It's the librarian that works at the downtown library, who enjoys Shakespeare and embroidery, and who most people write off as just another face in the crowd, on the way to nowhere, who volunteers at the children's hospital on the weekends and has adopted two cats even though he's allergic because he knows it makes me happy._

_He's my hero._

_And I hope, one day, I can be his, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me in my journey of fics for Sweethearts Week! I'll definitely be participating again next year! 
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [leviathncas](http://leviathncas.tumblr.com)


End file.
